Blood Orange
by darciejacks
Summary: Originally written for a roleplay months ago. Before becoming Huntress, Helena Bertinelli lived with relatives in Sicily after the murder of her family in Gotham City. This is the day when Sal, who was like a brother to her, decided the time was right for her to learn certain skills in order to defend herself and to take charge of the anger she felt. One-shot. Reviews appreciated.


_Late October in a village outside of Catania, Sicily_

Thump! The blood orange hit the thick tree root that was jutting out of the ground. Another rolled by vehemently, sailing past the trees and coming to a stop in the tall grass. Helena had her fists clenched by her sides. Her nails were drawing blood as they pressed harder into her palm.

Her cousin Monica, who was two years older, had such contempt for Helena over the past four years. Ever since Uncle Tomasso took Helena in, his daughter had hated the latest addition to their family. Earlier that day, Monica had caught Helena playing around on her computer, and in one of her fits of rage, threw a lamp at the screen, cracking it. It wasn't unusual for Monica to lash out violently over trivial things. She flew off the handle over the smallest of slights, especially when it involved Helena.

The lamp had just missed Helena's head, and she had yelped in surprise as it shattered the screen. Whipping her head around to see her cousin's purple face, Helena herself seethed. She narrowed her eyes and at the same moment, they both began to scream obscenities and insults. Uncle Tomasso entered the room shortly after it began to see the girls shoving at one another and shouting in enraged Italian. He managed to tear them apart, and began to then scream at them for the damage done to the lamp and computer.

Monica, in her father's presence, twisted her stance into that of the terrified victim, clutching his arm, pouting, and claiming Helena had destroyed the computer with the lamp out of jealousy. Tomasso banished Helena to her bedroom, but instead she ran out of the house and over to the neighboring farm just a short jog down the road where she spent most of her time anyway. Her Aunt Graziella's brother lived there with his wife and son, Sal.

Sal Asaro had been only sixteen when Helena arrived in Sicily four years earlier, and had instantly taken to her. She became the little sister he'd never had, and he took over as the older brother she'd lost. Whenever she was scared or upset, he comforted her, whereas her aunt and uncle usually scoffed at her weakness and told her she needed to toughen up.

Unknown to Helena during the first few years here, the entire Asaro family had been assassins for generations, as far back as could be traced. Sal was being trained from a young age to follow in the same footsteps. His compassionate and gentle nature was being twisted as his father and uncles molded him into a killer. They were always trying to beat the kindness and empathy out of him, and while he developed a tougher skin, he still managed to maintain his warmth and his jovial disposition when he was around Helena. She always considered Sal as the one who truly raised her, and thanked God for his companionship.

Helena continued to kick the oranges around as she felt her blood boil to the point of lightheadedness, grunting irritably with each exertion. She had barely noticed Sal as he moved so quietly through the orchard. With long steps, he had approached, and stood smirking behind her, leaning against one of the blood orange trees.

It took her a moment to notice him, and when she could feel the hairs raise on the back of her neck, it alerted her to a presence behind her. She turned, blushing with embarrassment as he just stood there looking smug. His own cheeks flooded with color, but only because he was trying not to laugh at her frustration. This only further enraged Helena, who didn't know what else to do but kick an orange in his direction.

He chuckled softly, taking out his pocket knife and wiping both sides off on his pants leg out of habit. He picked up the orange at his feet and with skill, he cut off the skin without penetrating the delicate juice filled segments underneath.

The red hot knot in Helena's chest only grew, as she felt under Sal's amused gaze that he was mocking her anger. "What do you want?" She spat the words at him with her hands on her hips.

He pushed off of the tree, standing there, lean, thin, and strong. His gaunt, angular face appeared worn, but his eyes held such warmth and liveliness as they sparkled in the low autumn sun. "For you to stop abusing our fruit." He joked, popping an orange slice into his mouth.

Helena glared, and leaned against a tree opposite him with a huff. Her arms were crossed over her chest.

Sal offered her a slice, which she declined with a glare.

"Come on, it's ripe. And only a little bruised. Reminds me of my ego." He teased, still holding it out for her. She slapped it from his hand. "Oh, now if that's how you're going to treat my generosity..."

"I don't care!" Helena snapped at him. "Just leave me alone, Sal!" She turned away from him, facing the tree and pressing her forehead against the bark hard enough to leave impressions.

Sal placed a hand on her shoulder, where she could immediately feel warmth radiate from the spot. The feeling relaxed her, and her shoulders sunk from their tensed position. She turned to peer at him, "Monica is a bitch."

"Tell me something I don't already know." He grinned handsomely, pulling on her shoulder, prompting her to turn. She did, and he pulled her into his arms, enveloping her. "A tough girl like you can't go letting somebody like Monica get you all worked up. She's not worth your fury."

She pulled back from the embrace, looking up at him, reminded of those who really were worth her fury. Those who took everything from her. She tensed up again.

"You can't keep letting this get the better of you." His hand rubbed at her back gently. "Don't let your anger control you."

"But how?" She whined.

"I have an idea." He let go of her and began to walk off. "You coming, or what?"

She ran after him, catching up quickly and asked him repeatedly what his idea was, though he wouldn't tell. He led her to a tall, weatherworn shed on the property. She was familiar with this shed, though she had never been inside. The doors had always been chained shut.

There had been one instance three years earlier when Helena grew curious of the locked shed and attempted to take a peek inside. Sal's father, Nicola Asaro, a hunched, looming brute of a man, had seen her across the field and rushed over with surprising speed. He seized the back of her shirt and tore her from the door, thrusting her hard down into the dirt as he screamed in rapid Italian. She had never given in to that curiosity again, and became forever fearful of Mr. Asaro's rage.

"I'm not allowed in there, Sal." She tried to hide her anxiety that had been triggered by the memory.

Sal was unchaining the door, "With me, you are. It's fine." He said, though he still glanced around a bit nervously to see if his father was around.

The chains fell to the dirt with a puff of dust rising and being carried by the wind. Sal smiled at Helena before pushing the doors open, revealing a much different shed than she had expected. Instead of the usual farming and harvest supplies, the walls were covered in racks holding guns of every size and caliber, knifes of varying lengths and sharpness, machetes, bows, arrows, crossbows, and other items she couldn't even put a name to. Her eyes widened as she took it all in.

A target was plastered against the far wall, though the black circles were barely decipherable anymore due to the holes made by months of target practice. The most recent holes were all concentrated in the center ring of the target's face, made by an expert marksman.

"This, is the Asaro legacy." He spoke with a tinge of cynicism.

"Your family... They kill people?" Helena's eyes had barely blinked once the entire time she was in the shed. There was too much to see, and too much to understand.

"I kill people, Helena." Sal explained. His expression was so full of shame. "It's not just the family. It's me as well."

She stared at him in disbelief. How could Sal, who had always been her shining white knight all these years, be a murderer?

Helena felt like she had been punched in the gut as she stared into the same grey eyes she'd found solace in for the past four years.

"You've never seen the things I can do. Or the things I've done. You only know me as your Sal. But-"

"You're still my Sal." She interrupted, forcing a smile. She didn't want him to suspect how this revelation made her feel. "You'll never not be my Sal."

He shook his head, about to argue but thought better of it. "And I'm always going to strive to be your Sal."

Helena wandered around the shed, walking in a circle as she scanned the walls. "You really know how to use all these?" She couldn't take her eyes off of the weaponry.

Sal nodded curtly. "And soon you will too."

Helena spun around to look at him. "I can't. I'm too…. I'm too…." She was searching her mind for an excuse.

"Too scared." He spoke matter-of-factly.

"I am not!" Helena's eyes became slits.

"So you're content with things? The nightmares? The hiding, angry and afraid for the rest of your life?" He moved closer to her.

"I," she growled lowly, "am not afraid!" Helena didn't want to admit it, but Sal was right. She was very afraid, and her fear only made her angrier with herself. Sal knew best just how fearful she was, as he had seen it firsthand.

Helena's aunt Graziella was close to her sister-in-law, Mrs. Asaro, and whenever their husbands were both away on business, Graziella would take her daughter and niece to stay at the neighboring farm for a night or so. Helena would sleep in one of the guest rooms which wasn't more than halfway down the hall from Sal's room. He could hear her in the middle of the night, crying out from the memories come alive in her nightmares. Her family's murder played again and again in her mind, and everything was so vivid. She could still smell the blood, and the musky stench of her family's killers. It was like she never truly left the scene. A part of her would always be left behind in that dining room.

The first time Helena had stayed on the Asaro farm, Sal was awakened by her panicked screams and snuck down the hall to her room. He slipped inside the room quietly, and approached the weeping child. It surprised her to feel another body sit on the edge of the bed, so much so that she whacked the strange young man with a pillow as hard as she could. He had laughed softly, and spoken such tender words to her, brushing her tears. His long arms wrapped around her petite, shaking frame and she felt more comforted than ever before, not just hushed as her Aunt and Uncle would do, as her tears would interrupt their precious sleep.

Sal had seen her at her worst. He had looked after her the best he could, though he couldn't stop her nightmares. Helena slept easier when in the Asaro house, knowing her protector would answer her cries and make all the monsters go away, if even for a little while.

"For as long as you are helpless, you will be afraid. I'm saying you can take charge of your fate. You can fight back. Be at no man's mercy." He was sizing her up, wondering where to begin. "You can use that anger for something bigger. Let it drive you. You can answer the call of your blood, Helena."

The crossbow seemed to be calling her name as she turned and scanned the wall. Nothing else seemed to suit her. The bow was about the same size as Helena as she hefted it off the rack. The weight of it sent her staggering back a few steps as she adjusted to it's unexpected weight. She turned to Sal, holding the unloaded crossbow the way she thought appeared most menacing.

"Show me."


End file.
